


its own reward

by 75hearts



Series: we but teach bloody instructions [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hurt People Hurting People, Thoughts About Redemption, ambarussa-dies-at-losgar canon, elwing only appears a little bit at the end, oh god theyre so awful., this is just a fic in which you can really super tell that im a philosophy major
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/75hearts/pseuds/75hearts
Summary: This is not the first time they've had this argument; nor will it be the last.(After the kidnapping-slash-adoption of Elrond and Elros, Maglor and Maedhros discuss what it is to be a good person. Maglor hopes; Maedhros mocks.)





	its own reward

It was a tired argument, each of them playing the same roles as always. Picking at each other’s scabs whenever old wounds began to close had become a pastime for them, and had almost ceased to hurt all. Certainly Maedhros seemed never to notice, and even complimented particularly cruel jabs, with the nonchalance of someone who has been hurt enough that he can no longer be fazed by more pain; Maglor typically gave the impression of someone who was bored by the whole debate but who continued having it out of sheer forward momentum, but it was not infrequent that he would be roused into reaction: a flinch, a swear, a prolonged silence.

 

“It’s funny,” Maedhros said, drawing out each word. He was particularly lucid that day; his eyes were tired, his voice sardonic. On worse days, his laughter, fey and devoid of any mirth, echoed off the stone. “You stole a redemption arc for yourself, without even bothering to first check if you qualify for one.”

“What? Because I have done terrible things? If I had never done anything wrong I should not have need of redemption in the first place. But of course, I forget who I am talking to--you have lost so much of yourself that you have become incapable of imagining that kind deeds might be done for reasons other than selfish desires!”

“Not by kinslayers.” Maedhros half-smiled, the scars on his face twisting. “And it is not because you have done terrible things. Redemption can be given to many who have done terrible things; it would be useless if it could not. People who have done terrible things is exactly what redemption is for! No. You, dear brother, are incapable of redemption because you do not regret any of the things you’ve done. Not really, not in any way that _matters_. You can toss and turn with misery at night and tell yourself you love your hostages as your own children, but if tomorrow they were to withhold a silmaril from us, what would you do? You would kill them with the same sword you have already used to kill their kin. And then, I am sure, you would cry about it, as though tears were enough to buy forgiveness for what you have done.”

“As opposed to who? You, of all the people to mock token acts of defiance and regret coming too late! Have you forgotten Losgar or Doriath? At least I am _actually_ helping those I have hurt, instead of your useless gestures. You are simply bitter that my kindness has succeeded whereas yours have failed, that I have actually managed to become a better person while your years of self-flagellation accomplished nothing.”

“Ha!” It was a breathy, half-formed sound. “You became a better person? And yet you do not repent of what you have done. You are sorry, I am sure, that half-formed conscience of yours screaming at you, but you would do it all again tomorrow.”

“So would you.”

“ _I_  have never claimed to be a good person. Nor do I ever expect to become one. We made sure of that, long ago, though we did not know what we were doing at the time. _We have sworn for ever!_ And being a good person will always, always come second to that Oath. You know this as well as I, but I daresay we have all learned it well. Certainly it looks unlikely that it will come into play again; yet neither did any expect the success of Beren and Lúthien. So long as we are destroying cities, I see no point in combing through the rubble for absolution. We can do penance all we please, but we will never be able to redeem ourselves as good people so long as we are bound.”

“So you just gave up?”

“Indeed. What is the point in playing a game you have already sworn to lose?”

“Perhaps that is our difference: even now, I am not yet far enough gone to talk of lives as though they were worth as little as pieces on a board.”

“I was the best general there was, you know. Those who cannot see lives as pawns to be moved around do not survive long in war. If I had tried to save each human with as much force as I tried to save High Kings, we would have lost long ago. Many more would have died should that have come to pass: I have saved people by seeing the world in this way. But of course, your worldview lets you believe that you are a good person. My apologies for suggesting that _anything_ might matter more than _that_. I may be willing to kill innocents, but of course I must draw the line at shattering the delusions that prop up your self-esteem. Besides--if you valued life as more than a game, you never valued it more than silmarils, and you never, ever will. It works out the same, in the end.”

“I remember looking up to you, once. In Valinor. I was a child and you were the greatest oldest brother there was.” Maglor shook his head, sadly. “You were a good prince, would have been a good king. But--it was more than that. You were _good_. Even when everything began to fall apart with our father and our uncle, you were so… unfailingly, unhesitatingly kind. It seems so absurd now, that you could ever have been that kind of person.”

“I was naïve. An idealistic child, believing that all could be fixed with love and generosity, that eternal peace was possible. I learned.”

“You learned from the Enemy. I refuse any lessons from such a source.”

“I learned from my father, first. You mentioned Losgar, earlier, did you not? Where was your kindness, when you were throwing torches and ignoring the sound of your little brother dying?”

Emotions flew across Maglor’s face, flashing up and fighting with each other; Maedhros watched them with interest. “You cannot say I do not repent of that. I did not know.”

Maedhros raised one eyebrow, at that, but did not comment. “Certainly that much you repent of. I do believe you would do it differently, tomorrow. Yet you did not beg forgiveness, did not take a just punishment. And whether you repented or not, he is dead all the same. Just as the people you killed are dead, whether you are sorry of it or not. The only thing apologies are good for is making things better for your victims and for pledging not to do it again. We are capable of neither.”

“I _am_ making things better for my victims. You, on the other hand, are trying to feel smug about your ceaseless cynicism.”

“It makes a refreshing change from the simpering self-pity masquerading as benevolence that you prefer.”

“Look. Either deeds matter, and not my motivations--in which case it does not matter why I am helping the twins, no more than it matters why I did what I did--or my motivations do matter, in which case it does matter when I regret what I have done, or do not know better, or have no better choice. You cannot have it both ways.”

“Neither can you.” At that, they sat in silence for a while, watching each other. Eventually, Maedhros sighed. “If you were actually making things better for your victims, instead of simply seeking mercy for yourself, why are you here arguing philosophy with me, instead of teaching the twins more songs?”

At that, Maglor simply glared, picked up his harp, and left the room, Maedhros' gaze never leaving him until he was out of sight. Not a minute had passed when Elrond’s voice sounded in the halls of their home.

 

-

 

Long Ages later, a man kneels before a woman. Her long, dark hair whips in the breeze. The last time they had seen each other, she jumped off a cliff before his sword could reach her.

“I’m sorry,” he says, head bowed.

“I know.” Neither of them speak, but it would be inaccurate to call it a silence to elven ears: birds chirp in the forest, waves break beyond the shoreline, a harpist in the city plays and sings. “Did you think I could absolve you? No. I do not have that power, but if I did--I do not forgive you. I do not think I ever can.” He nods, once, without looking at her, and moves to go, but she speaks again before he can leave. “But-- Thank you.” It was only then that their eyes met. “Thank you, for not being as terrible as you could have been. For raising my sons.”


End file.
